Kingdom of Heaven
by Aerilex
Summary: S6-AU.  There is an angel tainted by Hell, brothers set adrift on differing paths, a war between archangels, a few familiar faces, and an ambiguous Crowley.
1. Chapter 1

_****Disclaimer:** **_This is a fictional story made by a fan for entertainment purposes only; author does not own characters or situations.

**_A/N:_**Many, many thanks, love, and hearts to ilfirin_estel, who took the time to beta this and help me through the writer's block and basically be the light of my life 3.

This is my S6 AU. This is not a fix-it fic, so to speak. This is me resolving to address issues where I felt the ball was dropped in the show. Will it go differently? Yes. Will I make the most of characters that were brought into the series then let go abruptly and never mentioned again? Definitely. Will it be epically long and plot-twisty and possibly annoying? You bet your ass it will! So. Enjoy 3!

**Kingdom of Heaven**

_"And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven."_ –Matthew 16:19

Part I  
>Castiel<p>

"Inferno"

_"While I was with them in the world, I kept them in thy name: those that thou gavest me I have kept, and none of them is lost, but the son of perdition; that the scripture might be fulfilled."_-John 17:12

His wings have already been scarred by the fury of Hell, so Castiel doesn't fear the damage he's doing to them now. Dean would accuse the angel of _getting cocky_ if he knew what Castiel intends to do. The last time he'd ventured into the Pit, he'd been nowhere near as deep and he'd been in the company of a garrison of his brothers and sisters. Furthermore, he'd only been there for _one_ soul, no matter how stubborn and obtuse that soul may have been. Now he means to raise _two_ souls, as well as the bodies meant to house them. And he means to raise Sam and Adam from the very clutches of his eldest, most powerful brothers.

So, yes. Maybe he _is_ getting cocky.

But Castiel cannot simply leave Sam or Adam in that cage with Lucifer and Michael. Sam is his friend, and while he never had the opportunity to know Adam, they are both Dean's family. They will not be left to suffer the wrath of Castiel's kin. The angel prays fervently that his Father bestow the boys some protection in his absence, just until he can reach them.

Castiel knows better than to chance bursting through the Gates of Hell as he had before with his garrison. The Black Gates are a fearsome thing to behold, dripping with dark-colored tar and covered in showers of ash and sulfur. Demons of various shape and size peer through the spiny walls with glowing multihued eyes. The Gatekeepers, powerful guardians that take all manners of form as willed by their master the King of Hell, prowl back and forth just beyond the portal. They await trespassers such as Castiel and while he can stand against them for a time, Castiel can neither kill them nor they him. Such a stalemate would only leave the angel trapped inside the vestibule, which would not be convenient.

By this logic, Castiel decides against any tactic reminiscent of his first descent and instead falls back on eons of training and expertise in other areas of battle. Dean does not think Castiel capable of subtlety or discretion and while this may be true on Earth, the hunter has never seen Castiel in the midst of battle—and a creature of cunning Castiel has always been. So he plans his descent through a roundabout path, the back doors of Hell. These are passages that few are aware of, cracks and crevices that have worn through the walls of ether that surround the Pit and separate it wholly from the presence of the Father. A demon might slip through these cracks and escape through any of the gates to Earth that there are, but only an angel can slip into Hell through such a passage.

Castiel slips out of Jimmy Novak's flesh. He leaves the vessel safely ensconced in the light of the outer realms of Heaven, an area he has warded off but that is also outside of his brothers' typical range of flight. (Castiel wonders why he has become so vigilant against even his own brothers, but he cannot fault his urges to protect the body he inherited from Jimmy Novak.)

Castiel, his true form uninhibited by the confines of a vessel of flesh, flies urgently through the currents between Heaven and Earth and makes his way to the portal into Hell. The angel uses the portal that passes into Stull Cemetery. After all, it seems only appropriate and allows for the most direct route to the heart of the Pit.

Stull Cemetery remains the same as it did when he, Dean, and Bobby left here merely two days ago. There is still a splash of red speckled across the grass near where Bobby had fallen, the remnants of Castiel in his latest demise. Castiel ignores the area completely, and moves toward the Gateway that the demon Azazel had opened once before.

With a push of his Grace, Castiel throws the gates open once again. He quickly fills the space of the portal with his whole self, blocking out the escape of any demons that may linger near the other end of the way. Passing through a crevice in the walls of Hell is different from flowing through its Gate with his brothers. Castiel immediately feels strange, though he recognizes the heaviness in his wings and the shadows that are cast upon his essence as he pours himself through the passageway.

When he shatters through the underbelly of space and time, he emerges into an inverted replica of the cemetery. The open space that represents the sky here is tainted the color of blood and burns with sulfur, replicating the nightglow of Earth during a heavy storm. The glow washes over everything in sight with a chalky black appearance, and the earth is jagged and scarred black and barren. Castiel curls into himself, feeling unwell as he had anticipated. He rests for a moment, curious as to why so few demons are clustered in this area of the Pit. A fierce kind of pressure, the absence of wind in a place deader than the arid deserts surrounding Jerusalem, coats the quintessence with despair and misery. Even this far from the Rack, Castiel can hear the distant screams of tortured souls as they are torn and bitten and shredded to pieces.

He thinks of a pair of bright eyes filled with frenzy and terror. He thinks of a knife clutched in the hand of the purest soul he's ever known. He thinks of a ravaged voice begging him to leave.

The memory sparks a new urgency in the angel, and Castiel forces himself to his feet. He folds his wings in close to him—he cannot afford to waste them, as he will need them for the return trip. His short sword makes a sound like scraping metal as he draws it close to him. It will be enough to kill demons and he hopes that it will last him awhile before he has to resort to smiting the heathens with his Grace alone. Cut off from Heaven as he is, he is limited. His wings are heavy and his Grace covered in shadows, the voices of the Host muted in the back of his mind. For the first time since he had determined to raise Sam and Adam, Castiel knows unease. He is so _small_ here, so insignificant and so lost without the encouragement of his brothers and his Father.

Castiel shakes himself. It is far too early to fall into that trap. The angel peers around him again, on his guard even as he begins to move across the jagged dreamscape of Hell's outlands. Castiel remembers to ignore the souls crying out for salvation and mercy as he passes them, as he dodges their clawing hands and their pleading gazes.

The angel reaches the edges of the first ring and plunges into the second.

And so passes Castiel's first day back in the Pit.

* * *

><p>At first Castiel worries about his ability to do this on his own. And then as he moves into the area of Hell where the pressure from absence of air becomes razor sharp and cuts into his wings he realizes that he has another matter entirely to worry over.<p>

He has yet to see any ranking demons.

His movements become even slower, hindered by the cutting bursts of demonic miasma that leave smears of black across his Grace. The lands of Hell are still dismal and colored black, heavy on the horizon. Still, the only heathens Castiel has encountered are the small, pithy shadows birthed by the Seven Sins, echoes of human emotion given strength by the darkness of Hell. They are destroyed simply by the light cast off by his tempered Grace, and Castiel pays them no mind.

Time passes sluggishly, and he turns his thoughts onto the absence of the larger, mindless beasts that should be prowling the outlands he wanders through. Hellhounds and fiends overseen by the lower-ranking demons should be hunting these grounds, scavenging for straggling souls. The angel does not count himself fortunate enough to have found the path of least resistance.

Castiel passes through a ridge made up of decaying flesh, and tries to ignore the stench of rot and evil as the air grows thick with the blood of the damned. He draws his wings more firmly to his back, tense in the knowledge that something is amiss. He scans outward with all his angelic senses, seeking _something_ in the infernal darkness surrounding him.

It doesn't hit him until the creature is nearly overhead. He tugs himself backwards and folds in on himself, condensing the light that makes up his celestial form. It doesn't matter. He isn't quick enough.

The weight that befalls him and the claws that rip into his wings and Grace are not what he is expecting. There is a scream like a lion's call, smoldering with the hot blaze of Hell as the Guardian tears into Castiel. He takes a moment to process through the jolt of shock—what is a Guardian doing in this level of the chaos? They keep to the Gates and walk the walls to hinder the castaways of Limbo.

In the next instant his habitual urge to twist away from his attacker takes hold, and he slashes out with his glinting blade. The first sweep goes wide as the Guardian leaps away from him. He spares the span of a human heartbeat to flex his abused wings and assess the injury. One wing is twisted, possibly sprained at the joint. He is lucky for that—the bones in his wings are hollow, and easily broken. The other wing bleeds from several deep gashes, the feathers in wild disorder.

The angel only has that split second, and then it is gone as the Guardian gathers itself up again and lunges for his throat. He has no physical form here, but the Guardian knows each point to attack on the incorporeal form of an angel regardless. Castiel swoops low, dodging the more lethal blows but still managing to catch pieces of himself—the edge of a wing, the corner of his chest—on the claws and fangs of the Guardian.

He struggles only momentarily, his grip on his sword slackening then tight once again as he plunges it upward and sinks it deep into the belly of the beast. The tip of the sword pulls and drags, splitting the Guardian open from its throat to its pelvis. The beast's entire weight lands squarely upon Castiel, dragging him down to the floor of Hell and pinning him there under its death kick.

Castiel lets himself collapse for several moments. Dean would call it _catching his breath_, but of course angels have no need to breathe. Regardless, Castiel soon shoves the twitching corpse of the hellbeast away from him and casts out with his senses yet again.

He can sense other fiends drawing closer, all of them Guardians. It would appear that someone knows he is in Hell.

On the precipice of the next circle, Castiel closes his eyes tight and lets himself fall backward into the next level of chaos that awaits him.

* * *

><p>The injuries begin to pull on Castiel's limited strength even as he freefalls into the cold gray of the next valley, ice and rain catching in his feathers. The moments he has been here already gather together and stretch across the expanse of his awareness of time and space. Castiel has never felt the need to measure time so closely, but he is limited on the time he has available to him—has been since he became a part of the Winchesters' lives.<p>

He has already been gone for nearly three human weeks, and the realization startles him even as his strength flickers and fails him. He crash lands into the slush smeared over Hell's floor, sliding through it until he collides with a mass of boulders that he soon comes to realize are constructed with _bone_. The thought is hardly pleasant, but still Castiel remains unable to move for a long moment.

When he _can_ move he quickly realizes that his journey is going to be more difficult from here on in as he suddenly finds himself staring down at the guardian of these parts of Hell, a massive overlarge hellhound.

_Cerberus,_ Castiel recalls distantly, watching the beast lope back and forth in a large cavern just below where he has landed. Once the beast catches the whiff of angel on the air, it will hunt Castiel through the Gates to get the chance to feed on him. And if Castiel leads Cerberus to Sam and Adam...

Castiel assesses the situation carefully and quickly comes to the conclusion that he is stuck, for the moment. His injuries feel so cold they're almost burning; it takes an effort to hold himself still and erect a barrier strong enough to mask his presence. He watches Cerberus as the monstrous hound lopes about below him, tossing up what may be the mangled remains of a torso to pluck it from the air again.

Castiel sighs, and curses himself and every minion of Hell that he can think to add to the list. This may take longer than he had anticipated.

* * *

><p>Without the connection to Heaven and the Host, Castiel has no source of energy to draw from if he tries to heal himself. His Grace is already slowly burning itself out, and the angel finds himself growing increasingly more irritated as he silently wills Cerberus away.<p>

He is so invested in tracking the creature that he nearly misses the arrival of another.

By the time Castiel's senses explode with the aura of filth, the new heathen has nearly skulked right up to his weakening barrier. He whirls, drawing his sword and spreading his wings in a wide arc. The action is meant to intimidate, but as Castiel sets eyes on the new thing he realizes there is no need.

This...is a curious creature.

It doesn't quite look like a demon, its true form less like the black smoke that makes up a demon's body and closer to the darkness of a shadow. It isn't, Castiel thinks, quite unlike the light of Grace that is an angel's true form. As it approaches, it spreads, wrapping itself around Castiel's barrier like a leech.

Castiel realizes with a shudder of revulsion that the thing is sucking his Grace from the barrier.

_What are you?_ Castiel demands.

There is a chuckle, dark and foreboding. _Wouldn't _you_ like to know?_

Castiel bristles, flaring bright with righteous anger. He infuses it into every word he delivers as he says, _By the will of God, I command you tell me _what you are_._

_Why are you here, angel?_ asks the creature.

Castiel refuses to answer, and he won't repeat himself. He draws himself together, and searches below to seek out Cerberus. The hellhound is still near, but Castiel can no longer see him. Castiel observes the creature with him, notices little things that do not quite fit. _You are not a demon,_ Castiel thinks. _You do not belong here in Hell._

_You have such pretty, pretty wings, angel. We want them for our own. Will you give them to us?_ The creature flexes itself as though reaching out for Castiel's wings.

Reflexively, Castiel closes his wings more closely around himself. _No,_ he says.

The thing recoils and snaps away, almost like a human staggering back from a blow. Then, it snarls at him. _Mean, putrid heaven-thing,_ it rumbles. _So bright, so bright and so unkindly. We don't like heaven-things that won't share their hell-things with us._

The implication that his wings are of Hell bothers Castiel, but he remains firm and silent. The creature hisses and darts forward, thrusting itself against the barrier once, then again and again. Castiel flinches back cautiously, uncertain of the creature's intent.

It soon becomes obvious when a fissure appears in the quintessence binding the barrier. With a gleeful cackle, the thing pours itself around the crack and Castiel immediately feels ill as his Grace responds to the poison of evil attacking it. Something shoves its way deep into his inner light, filling up the cracks that Hell has permeated through him.

_Heaven-things will wilt,_ the creature singsongs, _and then the heaven-things will fade, fade, fade away and we will have the hell-things left behind. We want to wear the feathers and the bones, we want to drink the blood in the hell-things. Such pretty, pretty wings on such an ugly, ugly angel._

Castiel braces himself against the illness and gathers up a small amount of Grace, letting it burst outward in a small sonic boom as he cries, _Away. Away with you!_

The creatures shrieks and darts away, but it doesn't truly flee. It simply hides itself amongst the havoc of Hell, and Castiel grows tense as he feels along his Grace to find the damage inflicted from the thing's attack.

He has only to prod at the very core of his Grace to discover the source of his discomfort. There is a mark there, carved by the evil thing's touch, and it is one that not even Castiel can recognize. He curls his uninjured wing around himself, the dark feathers wet with the manifestation of his Grace like silver-blue blood. With a thought, he strengthens the barrier and casts out again. Cerberus is far enough away that Castiel can now move from here, but he is leery of leading the other creature anywhere near Sam and Adam.

_And what do we have here?_

Castiel hears the voice and instantly is on guard, though he knows this demon is still a good distance from him. Almost at once, Castiel recognizes the oil-slick tone of voice, and wonders how it has taken so long for Hell's new warden to sense his presence. _Crowley._

* * *

><p><em>You seem to have yourself quite a problem, there, angel-cakes,<em> Crowley lilts lazily. Castiel cannot pinpoint the demon's location, so he waits until Crowley draws nearer. _What sort of thing is that with you, Angel of Thursday?_

_I am unaware,_ Castiel answers honestly.

_Huh. Fancy that._ Crowley is close enough now that Castiel can nearly sense his presence on a physical level more than a quintessential one. _It doesn't seem to be one of my little hellions, does it?_

_No._ Castiel warily scans his surroundings, adjusting his position despite the ache of his wings and Grace. The creature is still close, but it seems to respond poorly to Crowley's approach. Castiel personally isn't certain that he wants to be here when Crowley arrives; he and the demon owe one another no kindness, and he expects to be treated as the trespasser he is in Crowley's domain.

He is wasting precious time. He _must_ reach Sam and Adam.

_Don't get your wings in a twist,_ Crowley admonishes. _Let me try and catch a glimpse of this little beauty first, then you can take that barrier down._

Castiel is silent, but suspicious. He watches the dark cloud that is Crowley as it winds through the knit-together mess of filth and gore, finding the creature in its hiding place. Hell seems to hold its breath as its new King explores the dark intruder, and Castiel hears Crowley curse once in astonishment.

_Crowley?_

_It's not a demon, it's a monster,_ Crowley observes from where he swirls lazily. _One of those ghastly little beasties out of Purgatory._

_What is one of Purgatory's children doing here?_ Castiel wonders. Crowley offers no response, but Castiel sees the King of Hell weave a web of shadows and bone, casting it over the area the child of Purgatory hides within. Everything within the ring of Crowley's trap vanishes as soon as the edges touch ground. Castiel refrains from comment, though he is well aware that Crowley will likely be putting the poor creature to its paces on his Rack. He reminds himself again that intruders in Crowley's domain are given no mercy, and a thing of Purgatory that has not escaped to Earth is rare indeed.

When Crowley finally approaches the angel, Castiel draws himself up. He will not be looked down upon here, not by any of Hell's vermin.

Crowley scoffs at the gesture. _Oh, cut the posturing, Castiel. I'm not going to bite._

_You will forgive me if I reserve judgment,_ Castiel replies coolly. No good ever comes of trusting a demon.

If Crowley were within his human body, Castiel very much thinks the demon would be rolling his eyes. _Look, it's easy enough to guess why you're here. Come for the lost boys, have you?_

Castiel ignores him, and starts to spread his Grace over the area to search for his path again. Time is slipping away from him. He can hear the screams rising from the din; it is easier than it should be for his imagination to twist the sounds to fit Sam's voice or Adam's.

_Nasty curse you got there,_ Crowley is saying. _Was the baby beastie that carved that brand, was it?_

_Curse?_ Castiel echoes.

_What, you didn't notice?_ Crowley hovers outside the barrier, the stench of brimstone hovering around him. After a moment, the demon sighs. _No need to be so hostile, Cas._

_Don't call me that._ Here where he is already nearly snuffed out by the absence of the Father and his Grace is diminishing, he prefers to at least keep the full potency of his name. Despite the threat Crowley presents, Castiel finds himself lowering the barrier that surrounds him. He admits to himself that it is a foolish move, but he is running low on options and he isn't sure if the illness that has overtaken him will allow him to move much farther.

Crowley comes in close, but does not touch. After a moment's examination, the demon smoke bobs and shivers in anticipation. _It looks like that curse is drawing the little bit of Hell in you to the surface. You feeling a bit peaky? Yeah?_ _That should fade away in time._ Crowley's demon body swirls around Castiel's light. Agitated at Crowley's words but resolved not to let it show, Castiel keeps very still and draws his wings around himself _You won't get far, shape that you're in,_ Crowley notes absently. _I could help you with that. If you're interested._

Castiel recognizes a pitch when he hears one. And Crowley _does_ hold a considerable amount of experience as the King of the Crossroads. Warily, he asks, _What do you want?_

_Now why's it got to be that way?_ Crowley returns. _Maybe I just want to help a friend._

Castiel wastes no time correcting him. _We are not friends._

_I have a way to clear a path for you, directly to the Devil's door,_ Crowley continues as though Castiel hadn't even spoken.

And _that_ is very interesting. Castiel has heard demons boast that they are able to twist the stuff of Hell to make a clear pathway from one level to the next, but he has never seen any entity other than Lucifer exercise this rumored ability. Still, the proposition is no gift and Castiel is no fool. _What do you want? _Castiel repeats, as aching with impatience as his wings are with pain.

Crowley sidles closer, and were they in their human forms Castiel suspects the demon would be attempting to sling an arm about his shoulders. _Nothing, Cas,_ Crowley says amusedly. _All I want is to make sure that you get what you're looking for and fly away home in relatively one piece._ After a short pause, Hell's King adds thoughtfully, _Which I suppose really depends on Michael and Lucifer._

_Regardless,_ Crowley continues, _I only want to offer you a quicker way to the Cage._

_And you want nothing in return,_ Castiel says dubiously.

Crowley relents with a low rumble like the growl of a feral dog. _Well, perhaps there is _something_ you could do for me._

And here it is. Castiel would feel triumphant, if he were not so weary of these games. _What?_

_Well there's nothing you can do for me_ now_,_ Crowley says matter-of-factly. _I'm in my element and pleased as punch. Only thing that could sweeten my sulfur is to put some order to this nonsense. But,_ Crowley's tone becomes silky and seductive, _perhaps this could be one in a series of mutually-convenient favors. I open up a road to Michael, Lucifer, and your precious lost pets for you...you return the favor when next I find myself in a jam?_

When Castiel hesitates for several moments too long, Crowley huffs. _Or I could leave your sorry hide to fend off the masses on your own._

Castiel weighs his options as quickly as he can afford to. He shifts his wings discreetly at his back, a gesture of impatient thoughtfulness. He realizes that his Grace is damaged far more than he would have expected from the short amount of time that he traveled through the detritus of Hell. It must something to do with the curse that Crowley mentioned, the angel thinks, and he hopes that the effect will only last temporarily.

Sam and Adam.

His goal is to end the unnecessary suffering of the boys as soon as he can reach them. For now, that goal is his one truth and his one purpose—that trumps everything else. Castiel takes a moment to appreciate the fact that, despite the Winchesters' lessons of free will, an angel is always an angel. Castiel really has no other choice. He has lingered too long already. And he had come into this fully expecting any outcome.

_Fine,_ the angel finally says to the demon. _I accept your offer._

Crowley chuckles, rich and deep. _Can't exactly seal the deal with a kiss here, angel. You'll have to settle for this._

The demon coils around a corner of Castiel's wing, sealing his name upon one flame-scarred black feather and striking one of three bargains ever forged between an angel and a demon.

* * *

><p>Castiel's wings are ravaged, but they are fit to carry him into the swirling masses of ice and fire that coalesce beneath him. Crowley is nearby, a formless black figure grinding against the currents of the Pit and shifting their direction in order to apply some system of shapes to each section. When the demon finishes, the product appears like a vortex through the next layers of Hell. The vortex holds form and rotates lazily, a maelstrom of gore and musk that is only just wider than the full span of Castiel's wings.<p>

_You have your yellow brick road, Castiel. Now go see the wizard,_ Crowley calls to him.

Castiel has no idea what he's talking about, but he spreads his wings and plunges down into the vortex. The initial tug on his wings causes a shudder of discomfort to roll through the angel in the strange displacement of air that pulls toward the center of the vortex much like gravity. When Castiel stretches his wings, though, they catch an updraft and Castiel rides it down.

He glides past glider demons like gargoyles that fly on tattered, leathery wings and souls that reach past the walls of the vortex to reach for him, crying out things like _save me_ and _I don't deserve this_ and _you selfish bastard_ and _come play with me, pretty_.

Castiel ignores them all.

* * *

><p>The descent is slow and strenuous against the current of raw, blackened power that pushes out from the heart of Hell. Castiel still finds it odd that there are so few demons that a creature of Purgatory managed to make its way into their land; but that is a mystery for a later time.<p>

The gliders trail the draft off his wings nearly to the bottom of the vortex, their cries like the shrieks of hyenas as they take turns snapping at his primary feathers. He dives out of their reach each time, but his feathers gradually become more frayed and singed.

The lower the angel circles within the vortex, the heavier his wings feel and the colder the void replacing his connection to Heaven seems. He no longer hears the laughing barks of the gliders that have fallen back. Even the screams off the Rack are distant and overrun by the sound of moans. Castiel knows that he is close. He spreads his good wing to bank and slow his descent.

The wing twitches and flaps once, then a jolt like lightning cripples it.

Castiel screams. The sound drowns out the groaning din and the distant cries and carries on across eternity. Castiel turns to clutch at his feathers, and gives a full-body jerk when his Grace slides over ice-crusted plumes.

The angel has only enough time to register the sensations he is feeling as _cold_ and _shock_ and _dismay _before he plummets into the funnel-shaped end of the vortex. The vortex twists and with a groan, collapses around him even as it hurls him away. The force of his expulsion sends the angel hurtle down to the last level of Hell. Castiel manages to fold his wings around himself to absorb a portion of the blow when he smashes against the glacier at the very base of the Pit.

The ice splinters around his body and rises in great chunks of crystal as it sinks in under the angel until he finally comes to a stop. It takes a second for the pain to catch up with him and when it does he is insensate and the world around him fades to gray.

* * *

><p>Castiel comes back to the sensation of many clawed hands tugging at him. It is too dark here for even an angel to see, so Castiel only recognizes where he is and what is happening by knowledge passed down from elder brothers. The lowest level of Hell where the Cage is kept is nothing but frozen misery. He twists away from the offending souls automatically, and cries out at the vicious agony that sears through him. The sound of his voice stills the silent souls that beg for salvation through touch, and Castiel scrambles up out of the icy tomb his wings had carved.<p>

When he touches the solid, cold surface of the icy plateau Castiel rolls away from the opening in the ice. His whole body is covered in tiny gashes that leak the silver fluid of his Grace and he has only ever felt this sick and this hurt during his brief stint as a human. The strange feelings intermingled with the shock of the fall are enough to leave Castiel dazed and struggling to get his wits about him.

Wonderingly, he looks around him. This area of Hell is void of movement, the only sounds the quiet groan of the shifting ice and the muffled whimpers of the souls pinned beneath it. There is no wind here, but the quintessence moves—thick with cold and sparkling bits of ice—in a way that clings to any trespassers. The ice is not colored the customary blue-white of the humans' winter, but rather it is stained ochre and the iron rust of blood is heavy in the representation of the sky. There are no demons here in this arctic wasteland, so he has no need to fear for his immediate safety unless he falls below the surface of the glacier again.

Castiel gathers himself up uneasily and casts out in a shallow area. He has kept his Grace suppressed as much as possible thus far, preserving it for the rescue of Sam and Adam and hiding its presence from his eldest brothers. He is very far from Heaven here in the lowest bowels of Hell, and he feels it sorely. When he senses a massive, contained power toward the distant horizon he is not surprised to see that the power appears in the shape of a small sun. Apparently some things never change, Lucifer included.

Just as he saw Lucifer's Grace—spoiled and cracked with despair—on Earth, so he senses it now. Alongside it is Michael's Grace, weathered already by its short time away from Heaven's splendor. Powers rise and fall rapidly like a tidal shift, evidence of the ongoing battle that is being carried out between them. It saddens Castiel and hurts him deeply to think that two of the three remaining angels to have seen God's face are locked away in Hell.

Castiel follows the source of Grace for some time, arcing to circle it as he reviews his planned course of action. He has to be quick and discreet to get Sam and Adam both out of the Cage. It doesn't matter if he is caught as long as he manages to get the boys and push them to the surface with their bodies healed and intact. If he should fall here, at least his wings will burn a permanent cicatrix of the Glory of God into the place where His light never shines.

Castiel's sense of the Cage combusts in the same moment that he sees it like a huge, gnarled mass of twisting, coiling twine. The ice beneath him crackles under the dancing spark of electric Grace spilling outward from the Cage's confines. Castiel is bowed under its brute strength, and he collapses inside the invisible barrier that marks the extent of the archangels' reach outside their dungeon. Every soul in the shattering ice is still and silent, stunned by his brothers' power.

The angel lets the overpowering Graces of Michael and Lucifer sweep over him and roll off his wings like oil. He dissipates his form carefully and burrows down between the souls that are still screaming silently for release.

Castiel slides through the ice, slips through each crack, and pours himself toward the Cage.

* * *

><p>The Cage sits half-buried under the ice, monstrous and vast. The Father and the archangels had constructed it that way for their lost Morningstar, hoping that such a small comfort as space to spread his wings would ease even some of the agony of Lucifer's expulsion from Heaven.<p>

Castiel is celestial intent poured into formless light, shafts of it filtering through the layers of ice until the souls trapped there dissipate in quantity, shoved away from the Cage by the might of its prisoners. Castiel quiets the light of his body until it glows only dimly, and when he reaches the coiling outer walls of divinity-infused ether he hesitates before slipping past their barriers.

The Cage is designed to hold archangels, whose power cannot pass through God's barriers. Castiel knows that souls can slip in and out of the Cage, knows this because Lucifer has turned souls to demons himself over the last several millennia and could not have done so if he had no access to them. He is working on theory alone when he guesses that an angel of his insignificance, Grace dampened and weak, can likely pass through the barriers as well. After all, it is easy to get in—getting _out_ is the problem.

Once he has passed the outer barriers, it becomes more difficult to move than it had been in the gravity of Crowley's vortex. Castiel is nearly crushed by the intensity of power within the Cage, and it takes an incredible amount of time before he is able to dispel his Grace in small ripples to search for Sam and Adam. He rises cautiously, weaving through the restraining bands of quintessence.

It isn't long before the angel hears his elder brothers clashing against one another. Neither Michael nor Lucifer speaks, both have long run out of words for one another. They are still frustrated with their confinement, however, and it shows in the undue violence in their movements as their Graces collide and grind unpleasantly. They both aim to cause harm, though that they only use the surface of their immeasurable power belies that Castiel's brothers are more hurt by each other than they are angry at one another.

Castiel is distracted from the battle his brothers wage by the presence of an unmistakable beacon. The star-bright beam is colored by intelligence and curiosity, tempered by love and a shallow streak of vanity. The soul glows warm hazel and welcoming, and Castiel recognizes it almost as easily as he would recognize its brother.

_Sam_.

Near the memorable soul is another, younger and paler in shade, like honeycombs. Adam's soul is wrought with the scars of his trials, self-imposed through the misleading guidance of angels. Castiel can easily read the exuberance of Adam's youth in his soul, brimming with energy and honesty and pride. Castiel thinks that it is a shame that the Winchesters had been separated from him for so long; he would have been treasured in their brotherhood.

However unusual and dangerous it is for the physical manifestation to exist on this plane, it is also fortunate that Sam and Adam are still attached to their own physical forms. Pinpointing the location of the souls, Castiel's Grace twinges with displeasure. The boys are, in perhaps the most ironic display of misfortune Castiel has ever witnessed, cradled just underneath the area where Michael and Lucifer are hashing out years of fraternal friction.

So it seems that Castiel's efforts to remain concealed up to this point have all been wasted. He may as well have burst into the Cage like a one-angel army storming a castle. There is no way that his brothers will not notice him stealing away their respective vessels now.

* * *

><p>The first thing Castiel does is expend more Grace than he has thus far in order to check Sam and Adam over for injury. From this distance, he sees that neither has been harmed by Lucifer or Michael. Castiel is endlessly thankful for this, that Michael and Lucifer have not grown idle long enough to turn their attentions onto their unfortunate companions.<p>

During Castiel's initial scan, the bright star he knows as Sam's soul reacts, lighting up in recognition as his Grace sweeps over it. _Cas?_

_Hush_, Castiel commands, and the soul is still and quiet. Castiel gives the same treatment to Adam's soul, which does not know him and thus shies away when his far-flung Grace brushes over it. He retracts the shred of Grace he had expended to check on Sam and Adam.

And then he bursts into motion, a streak of light racing through the Cage.

Castiel feels his wing tear under the thrashing Grace that collides with him when Lucifer finally notices his presence. The Morningstar's voice, a multitude of cries like those still resounding from the Rack, calls out Castiel's true name. It sounds like the echoes of an ocean storm, unrestrained by earth or sea or sky. It has been a very long time since Castiel last heard his name spoken in his native tongue, but the anger behind Lucifer's bellow does not bring Castiel the comfort he would have expected.

And then Michael is joins the onslaught, his own voice bursting like shattering mountains as he asks, _What is your intention here, little angel?_

Michael's Grace also rends at Castiel's wings and his essence as he slinks across the edge of the Cage to reach the humans at its base. Castiel curls slightly under the brunt of their attack, but that does little to deter him. Forcing himself up, making himself appear larger than he is, he answers with conviction.

_I have come for Samuel Winchester and Adam Milligan. I will not leave here without them._

He hears Michael's responding laughter. _Admirable, but foolish. Your Grace may burn brighter than most, but you are in the presence of God's mightiest warriors._ Castiel is uncertain how to take this backhanded praise.

Lucifer is less amused than their eldest brother. _You cannot take them, Castiel. You have no claim here. Both these humans gave their consent; they are ours._

Castiel would grit his teeth, were he within the confines of his vessel. _Sam and Adam belong to no one. I am taking them back home. _He leaves out the _whether you like it or not_, though his tone is enough to imply it.

Lucifer has always been bright and beautiful. Even now, twisted and poisoned with darkness, his is the brightest Grace Castiel has ever seen. It flares, cracked and leaking curling smoke and dark, and Lucifer thrusts himself forward, the glint of steel the only indication of his wings as they slice into Castiel.

After the injuries he has already sustained, Castiel only hopes to preserve the strength to send the humans away from this place. He uses only enough of his power to shield himself from the worst of Lucifer's rage.

Angels in their pure form can use Grace as weapons, but that does not exclude their Grace-forged steel. Castiel knows that Lucifer has drawn his sword when he hears the familiar metallic shift of metal. In this form, Lucifer's appears like a crystal of light. It narrowly misses the arch of Castiel's wing as he swoops down below and spirals around the base of his brother.

When he sees Sam and Adam, Castiel releases a sigh of relief. Then he dances away as Lucifer lances his blade toward the younger angel's wings yet again. Michael does not interfere, apparently choosing to observe the proceedings as his brother attacks Castiel ferociously. Castiel is both relieved and surprised at this, but he has no time to think on it as he makes another dive toward Sam and Adam.

Neither human is aware of what is happening above them. Their souls stir and respond, yes, but in the most basic sense they are catatonic in their physical forms. Castiel had no idea what to expect, but he is almost glad for this. The coma-like state of their bodies will have preserved their physical selves from harm; though their souls are scarred simply by their presence in the furnaces of Hell, they will be easy to piece back together.

With a thought, Castiel pushes his Grace in healing waves over both souls. The humans curl into the warmth, basking in its glow with soft sighs. They aren't quite content and won't be until they return to their plane, but this is a start.

Castiel shifts his focus between his charges and his brothers. Michael still hangs back, and Castiel can sense curiosity and—strangely—_awe_ rolling off of his Grace in heavy waves. Lucifer is still enraged, and snarls as he continues to chase Castiel. It is certainly not Lucifer's fault that he cannot catch the smaller angel. Lucifer is a great warrior, stronger than Castiel by such a far stretch, but Castiel is used to being smaller and weaker than most of his elder brothers. And he is _very_ fast.

Lucifer finally resorts to his own clever tactics and thrusts his poisonous Grace upon Castiel's even as the smaller angel wraps around Sam and Adam.

Several things happen at once.

Lucifer's Grace is propelled away from Castiel by the sudden unleashing of a magnificent pale golden light that seems to burst into the Cage from all around them. Lucifer shouts his fury and his pain before he releases his hold on Castiel's Grace as he flees from the light glowing around them. Castiel has never seen anything like it, and he has never seen Lucifer cower from anything other than God's wrath. Michael seems inclined to do nothing, and Castiel wonders very briefly whether or not the archangel is to blame for this strange attack.

The angel wastes no time. He is already darting toward the barriers, flying as fast as his wings will carry him with his precious burdens enfolded safely in the cradle of his Grace. The moment he reaches the barriers, the burst of luminosity burns out.

Castiel passes out of the Cage just as Michael calls out to him. _They will never welcome you back, Castiel. You carry Hell now._

The small angel tears up and away, and as he flies he pushes with what Grace he has left. It quickens his pace, and he is infinitely glad to have saved his strength for this final push as he had with Dean. Though there are no angels now to keep his way clear, there are also very few demons.

_You carry Hell now_ Michael had said.

One of the souls—Sam, Castiel realizes—bumps against his Grace in admonishment for the sudden unease that filters through him. Automatically, Castiel soothes his charges with a wave of comfort back. Nothing is like it had been with Dean. The more profound connection he shared with the Righteous Man, his first Perdition-bound charge, had been far easier to maintain than his connection with Sam and Adam is now. He finds himself almost distracted trying to appease the lingering terror in their souls, and again when Sam seems to recognize him a second time.

_Castiel?_

Castiel only pumps his torn wings faster and doesn't respond. _You carry Hell now_. A shortage of demons within Perdition. That strange light... Had it been Michael?

Too many questions and too few answers. And Castiel has two souls to return to their rightful place on the mortal plane.

He flies.

* * *

><p>The return flight finds Castiel's wings raw and missing many of his flight feathers. He barely keeps himself going, coddling Sam and Adam as they ascend through the winding chaos of Perdition. Nothing stands in their way now, and Castiel does not begrudge the gift, though it makes him suspicious. It takes them, by the angel's rough estimate, nearly the span of a year in Hell's fragmented time to reach the Gate.<p>

Castiel explodes through the Hell Gate and crashes for the second time in Stull Cemetery.

Trembling and spent, the angel rests against the grass as he releases the human forms of his charges from within him. Sam and Adam lay side-by-side nearby, appearing somnolent and peaceful. Castiel maintains a firm grasp on the souls and as he rests, he lets his Grace move through them.

Like cool water, Castiel pours through every crack and crevice in both the souls shaking under his healing Grace. Adam's soul gives a quiet noise like a sigh, and says, _Angel._

_Yes,_ Castiel responds. _Be at peace, Adam Milligan. You will be whole again soon._

_Cas,_ Sam murmurs soft like a breath. _Cas, what...?_

_Be at peace,_ Castiel says again. _It's all right, Sam. You're safe now._

_Thank you,_ Sam responds then falls silent while Castiel works.

Castiel tries to gather his bearings as he cures both souls of the shadows Hell forced upon them. He realizes with a start that he left the mortal plane three months past. The angel had spent thirty of Hell's years in the Pit. Sam and Adam had suffered for nearly five years longer.

It takes a sparse few moments more for Castiel to smooth away the darkness clouding Sam and Adam. When they are again flawless and bright, Castiel gently pushes the souls back into their vessels and takes a moment to let his Grace rejuvenate the connection to hold the souls in place.

Then the angel draws back, silencing his true voice and dissipating his true form into seamless air. He rests once again as he observes the humans resting nearby. Sam blinks his hazel eyes open, and stares at the sky for a moment.

And then he is bolting upright, swiveling his body to look around him in alarm. Slowly, hesitantly, the boy calls, "Cas?"

Castiel, of course, cannot respond. He already knows that Sam cannot hear his true voice. He infuses his Grace with the slight breeze that sweeps over Sam, soothing the young hunter's worry. The creased lines on Sam's face ease and he relaxes fractionally. Sam sighs, glancing down at his brother when Adam moans and stirs.

Castiel wishes he could spare another moment, but if he intends to return and offer an explanation he needs his vessel. And even though he is free of Hell and its various miseries, he knows that a visit to Heaven would not go amiss. He is also in need of answers, answers he hopes to find amongst the comforting wavelength of the Choirs. With a rueful look towards Dean's brothers, the angel takes wing.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thank you to everyone who reviewed and favorited and followed. :) (This was finished months ago, I just realized that I hadn't posted it yet. It's been a crazy year so far. Originally posted 1/26/12 - ...really? _Really_? Wow... - on my LJ.)

"Paradiso"

There are layers of quintessence and states of being that pile atop one another off in the furthest edges of the universe. The energy that fills this space crackles when a divine being is laid to rest in the dust of the stars and distant galaxies.

The ashes of Grace and power and light have settled on the outskirts of a distant bright-colored nebula. Suspended in space, the remnants are at peace and do not vibrate as they did in life. Within the nebula that cradles them, the shards patiently await reformation into the star that they will someday become. It will be a bright glorious golden thing, and humankind will contemplate it in several millennia once it has reached maturity.

And then, something in the void stirs. There is a shift of power and the stars tremble. A meteor shatters as the echoes of a voice that is and yet is not booms over its cold surface.

_My son._

The call brings forth a change in the remnants. Uneasily, they stir and shy away from the power behind the non-voice. Incorporeal, the voice gentles and soothes the remnants as if reaching out with touch. _Be easy, beloved. Be still._

The remnants quiver then settle. The voice, when it comes next, is pleased. _It is too early yet for you to take your place in these heavens, beloved. You have a task you have to see through._

All of Heaven heaves as if gasping, and Creation coats its corners.

* * *

><p>Castiel is awash in glory the moment he breaks through the barrier into the outermost realm of Heaven; while Heaven's light lends him strength, he still trembles with exertion. In these parts where the fewest angels tread, there is a vast desert of white-glowing sand, manifest of the in-between where the ethereal stitches together with the corporeal.<p>

Castiel is relieved to see that it appears as though none of his brothers or sisters has flown here since his departure. When he reaches out across the distance to feel along the familiar lines of the sigils erected around Jimmy's body, he finds them unbroken and his vessel safe. He banks slightly, his still-injured wings greedily absorbing the healing Grace around him even as they carry him back toward his vessel. Once he reaches Jimmy's body, Castiel will rest and try to recover some of his strength. He can only stay long enough to heal his wings; he will need them at full strength when he returns to his charges.

The angel doesn't make it to his vessel before another burst of iridescent starlight nearly crashes into him. Castiel rears back, wings snapping painfully wide in surprise even as he recognizes his sister and dear friend, Rachel. Rachel's wings close around his shoulders and her voice showers over him like rain. _Castiel! Where have you been?_ He flinches at the brush of her feathers against the naked, raw flesh where his have been stripped. Rachel arches her wings away. _What happened to you?_

Seeking to soothe Rachel's distress, Castiel brushes his Grace against her pale sky-colored feathers. _Do not fret, sister. I will heal,_ he reassures her.

Rachel clutches at him, growing more alarmed despite his attempts to calm her. _Castiel, what have you done to yourself?_

Castiel isn't quite sure what Rachel means. Curious, he responds slowly, _Sam Winchester and Adam Milligan...they are saved._

Rachel withdraws from him as immediately as she had appeared, her Grace carefully pulled apart from his. Castiel tries not to flinch in hurt at the sudden loss of his sister's loving warmth, but it is a near thing. After his first trip to Perdition, his brothers and sisters shied from his scarred wings, but still gathered near to him to share their Grace and offer the comfort of their presence. Rachel's reaction is...troubling.

_You are tainted,_ Rachel says, and something about her cascading voice has chilled to ice. Castiel wishes that his siblings would stop saying this, wishes that the curse Crowley had seemed to think might dissipate soon would do so. At the back of the angel's mind, he feels the familiar tingle of doubt. _Castiel,_ _much has happened since your Falling._

Castiel studies her intently. It occurs to him that there are many new questions he needs to have answered. He knows that, even with the taint of the curse on his Grace, many of the angels should no longer see him as Fallen, as most of his siblings should have felt his latest resurrection and their Father's involvement in it. With this in mind, Castiel asks uncertainly, _What has happened?_

Rachel does not answer his question, and she seems almost dazed as she says thoughtfully, _We thought...Father restored you, we all felt His light in you, and we thought_―_we thought you would return to us the moment Raphael called to you―but you went to Hell, and now you have been tainted for those _humans_._ The cold disdain in his sister's tone perturbs him.

_Rachel, I don't understand_―

_Raphael wants to see you,_ Rachel interrupts him. _He has been looking for you. We all have._

Startled by the sudden change of topic, Castiel simply watches his sister silently. Rachel continues to hold herself apart from him, but at the lengthening silence explains, _Our brother has taken command of the Host in Michael's absence. You must speak with him at once._

Castiel has no desire to speak to the archangel. For once, his unwillingness has little to do with fear. Yes, Raphael still embodies the wrath of Heaven and yes, his brother can still obliterate Castiel with a thought―but Castiel does not fear him. It should be strange, but it isn't so. Castiel simply has no time for Raphael; he has to return to Sam and Adam, and help them find their way to Dean.

But Rachel seems insistent, already growing tense as the light of her Grace brightens with the prospect of divine will. Castiel is startled to see that in his sister. He had _never_ imagined that Rachel would think to force him to obedience.

Then again, Rachel is not the one who defended Castiel when he stood trial in the Archangels' Hall. And Rachel is certainly not the one who snuck to Castiel's prison cell and murmured gentle comfort to him while he bled rivulets of silver Grace and screamed at the remains of the torture his brothers inflicted upon him.

Castiel has less desire to fight a beloved sister than he does to avoid a meeting with Raphael, however. Aside from the obvious hurt it will cause him to wage a battle with a friend, Castiel knows that it will only cost him more time and he will likely attract Raphael's attention anyway. In response to Rachel's stony silence, Castiel curls his wings just slightly. It is the angelic equivalent of inclining his head obediently. When she sees the gesture, Rachel relaxes.

_You will find Raphael in the City,_ Rachel supplies for him. _I will follow as far as the outer wall._

Castiel understands that this means Rachel does not wish to interact with the archangel either, but she will guarantee that he meets Raphael. Rachel flinches away when Castiel murmurs in assent and spreads his wings. He tries not to notice and forces himself to take comfort in his sister's nearness as he flies toward the Great City.

* * *

><p>Castiel flies swiftly, not willing to sacrifice any more time in Heaven than he has to. He knows that time passes differently between Heaven and Earth, and hopes that he hasn't left Sam and Adam for very long without an explanation.<p>

Wistfully, Castiel gazes upon the face of his home as he and Rachel pass through several regions toward the golden city at the heart of Heaven. The whitewashed desert fades into a sudden flourishing oasis of forestry. To Castiel, it appears as the rainforests that had once nestled the area around Eden. Passing the forest and the adjacent region of cascading falls and pools stacked atop one another in staggered fountains, Castiel finally sees the city.

It is a splendorous sight to behold each and every time Castiel sees it. Perhaps his experience this time is laden with the bitter emotions that churn in his Grace, homesickness and isolation brought to closure the moment he sights the gleaming, golden spires and domes. The city is enclosed within vast, towering walls, more for show than for protection. At the center of each cardinal wall, the gleaming stone barrier tapers off into shining wrought gates that stand open between the City and the surrounding regions of Heaven.

Castiel senses Raphael's staggering presence at the Northern Gate, and directs his flight toward his brother. He realizes at once that Raphael knows he's nearby; the moment he registers Raphael's presence his wings are restricted by the archangel's intent, and Rachel's light vanishes at his back. "New and improved" though he may be, Castiel is still only a seraph and the will of an archangel remains absolute to any of the lower-ranking angels under that archangel's command.

Raphael is different from the other archangels. His light burns just as bright, but with a different fire. Not even Michael, who has always been a warrior, is as savage as Raphael, and it shows in the blaze of his Grace. God's Healer has redesigned himself since the Father took his leave of absence.

Castiel doesn't join his brother where the force of his light fills the Gateway; instead, he touches down at the base of the incline below the gates and approaches cautiously. Raphael pulses with intent, and Castiel is concerned that he cannot perceive its origin.

When he is close enough to reflexively bow under the presence of the archangel, Raphael finally acknowledges him. _Castiel_.

_Raphael,_ Castiel responds firmly.

_I'm surprised. I didn't think you'd return, _Raphael says, his tone much less impressed than his words convey.

Castiel tries to keep the dry tone from his response. _Rachel accosted me upon my return. She tells me you have been searching for me_.

_Yes,_ Raphael agrees. He does not elaborate on this, but instead gazes heavily upon Castiel and his Grace. _You are tainted, brother._ Raphael, unlike Rachel, sounds more amused by this than alarmed. Castiel is uncertain what to make of it, and puzzles out Raphael's odd tone in the back of his mind as his brother addresses him again. _Tell me what business you had in Perdition, seraph._

Without pause, Castiel answers, _I went for Sam Winchester and Adam Milligan. I pulled them from the Cage to return them to the lives they have earned._

_I see._ Raphael pauses, and the hesitation is pregnant with some sort of tension that Castiel bristles at. Every instinct in him―built up from nearly a year of running and fighting against the forces of Heaven―screams at him now to _flee_, to fly from this place and Raphael's treacherous quiet. Before he can act upon the urge, Raphael says, _Explain to me, Castiel, why the demons have been loosed onto the human plane._

_What?_ Castiel had been surprised by the lack of demons in Hell, true. But surprisingly, it had not occurred to him to worry that they had perhaps been set loose. The notion startles him and instantly his mind turns to Dean, to Sam and Adam and _Father_, all three of the boys are unaware that they are in danger. Castiel's instincts shift, his focus moving from escape to protectiveness as his wings shift with the itch to take flight and return to his duties as self-appointed guardian to the brothers.

_Castiel,_ Raphael interrupts his thoughts, infusing his voice with the might Heaven has bestowed upon him. Castiel stills automatically, the instinct to obey imprinted by time and persuasion. The younger angel turns his eyes upward to his elder brother, wings folding behind him. _The demons are loose and you reek of their filth. What have you done?_

Castiel realizes that this is not an interrogation, but an accusation. He shies back, away from the archangel, and his thoughts run rampant. _There were few demons when I entered Hell, _he says quietly. Urgently, he goes on, _Raphael, there was a creature of Purgatory there. It was the same creature that weakened my Grace!_ The curse throbs against Castiel's light, an imprint of wickedness like a wisp of smoke staining him.

_The taint, yes._ Raphael's acknowledgment is not agreement; it is not understanding. Castiel realizes the danger the moment Raphael's wings close around him. _Your wings are charred, Castiel. Why would I believe anything you have to say?_

The full strength of Raphael's Grace pounds down upon Castiel, leaving him unable to respond. He begins to struggle in earnest, and pain ricochets through him as his brother's fiery light bursts around his own.

Castiel thinks he hears a familiar sound, a distant trumpet's call, just as the light fades to darkness.

* * *

><p>Castiel is betrayed.<p>

For a time, he is unaware. But soon, sensation returns in jagged parts, and Castiel hears the quiet whispers of the most dangerous of his brethren. In all the Heavenly Host, the most fearsome angels are the archangels. But even Michael, mighty with his sword and spear of evil's bane, fears Heaven's persuasion. Heaven is the original home of Lucifer, the first evil. It stands to reason that Heaven is the wellspring from which Lucifer's imaginative tortures manifest.

Castiel is betrayed, and he knows this the moment he hears the angels responsible for re-educating those who go astray. The Flames of Heaven burn bright and white-hot, their Grace magnificent and awe-inspiring.

The seraph is small and dim compared to these angels who guard Heaven's prison, small and dim and absolutely terrified.

* * *

><p>It begins now as it had before, with the further dismemberment of his wings. <em>To keep you from fleeing,<em> says a nameless brother as each bone is carefully and strategically broken. They take away Castiel's voice so he cannot cry out in pain; but this pain is old now, familiar―Hell had already scarred him before his return. Castiel is numbed by his trip through Perdition, and it shows in his lack of response.

The Flames are displeased by this.

Their displeasure engenders a more sensational type of pain; they begin to dissect his Grace with the holy oil that entraps angels on the mortal plane. Here it burns molten hot, running like golden magma over the body of Castiel's light.

The pain is not something Castiel has any language to describe. If he could, he might compare it to the sensation Dean experienced in Hell when he remained on Alistair's rack and Alistair saw fit to flay the skin and muscle and sinew from Dean's bones―because even then, Castiel felt and shared every sensation Dean did. It had then acted as a guiding beacon leading Castiel to his charge, the pain and Dean's own iridescent soul shining bright through the churning chaos of shadows. Castiel has no such guide now, nothing to focus on but the fraying of his existence as the Flames bathe him in liquid fire.

They do this for so long Castiel's pain begins to ebb into numbness. Sensory deprivation is not something that angels experience; while it may appear―to humans, at least―that sensation is itself a foreign concept to an angel, the truth of the matter is that those sensations are simply buffered when an angel walks the earth by the vessel it wears. Here and in Hell, where angels' true forms are as mortal flesh, their experiences are magnified and intense.

So when Castiel feels numbness and cold, his addled mind knows the fervor of terror anew.

The Flames leave him there, floating within the pool of holy oil for days and days until the angel hardly remembers his own name, much less whatever he is meant to feel. This is what they mean to do, he knows―they mean to break him down bit-by-bit until there's nothing left of _Cas_ and they can rebuild Thursday's warrior, the second angel governing the fifth day who lives by the might of the name the humans translate to _Castiel_.

* * *

><p>While a seraph suffers the penance forced upon him by his elder brothers, the archangel that sentenced him for his alleged treason sets his sights upon the seraph's charges.<p>

Castiel is unaware of this, is oblivious to anything but the cold and the heat and the sharpstinging_ache_ of his new existence. He has no way to entertain the notion that, somehow, he is acting as a scapegoat for a crime that another is willing to commit. His mind which has always served him so well is drowned in the back-and-forth between pain and non-sensation; it isn't until he comes to at the cracking of the blessed silver of an angelic blade against the nebulous shape of his face that he hears someone calling out, distant but firm, in a human tongue.

_Castiel. Cas? I kinda doubt you can even hear me, but―if you do get this―do you think you could wing down? It's been almost a week now since I woke up topside and...I don't know, man, I thought I heard you? Right after Adam and I came back, or maybe right before, I dunno, but I thought... Look, I'm kind of freaking out here, and I'm getting pretty worried so when you get a chance, at least, y'know...send me a sign or something._

He hears a choked-off sort of laugh. _You know what I mean. I, uh. I'm still in Lawrence, just so you know. I guess I'll see you. Take care, Cas._

There is a brief moment of confusion, wondrous puzzlement―and then realization as the angel realizes that it is _Sam_ that is praying to him. He holds onto the prayer for as long as he can, uses it as a grounding point to draw his wayward thoughts back into himself.

He can do this. He can function through the pain, if he has Sam's prayers to hold onto. He wishes, in a deep part of his heart, that Dean would pray to him as well―but he knows Dean has little true faith, and he has not heard Dean yet.

Castiel will not let himself be disappointed by that, not while he has another mission. He will listen for Sam again, and he will―eventually―find a way back.

* * *

><p>Castiel doesn't hear Sam for many lonely hours of pain and darkness. When next the boy calls out for him, the angel is pinned to a sigil-carved wall, holding him absolutely still so that he cannot fight as the Flames force the blood of the fallen down into his Grace. The names of lost brothers echo throughout his being―<em>Abaddon, Orias Azazel, Quemuel, Samael―<em>in slow, neverending succession and Castiel wonders if that will be him somehow, someday. Then he shakes that thought away; first because if God meant for him to truly fall from grace and not just to humanity, He would have cast Castiel away to the Pit instead of restoring his wings.

And second, because Sam Winchester is suddenly speaking in his mind.

_Cas, hey. So I got a message but―this is going to sound stupid―is there a secure way to talk to you? I mean, am I praying to _you_ or am I calling all angels here? I don't know―I just don't normally have creepy dream-conversations with you. That's definitely something you can save for Dean, thanks._

There is a pause, then a soft curse.

_ Sorry, that sounded mean. I'm a little cranky right now. Adam keeps trying to sneak off on his own because apparently, being ridden hard and put away covered in hellfire and brimstone makes kids think they can take care of themselves._

_ I'd like to see you in person before I say any more. To be safe. If you have your cell phone still, I left you a―_

Castiel is well past alarmed by the time Sam's voice cuts out, severed abruptly at the root. Were he apart from this sigil that binds him, Castiel would be sorely anxious to check on Sam, to make sure he is all right. He thinks that perhaps the Flames are responsible for parting Castiel from the prayers of his charge, and while he worries he is sure that Sam can look after himself―has seen both Winchesters do so―so he focuses instead on the content of Sam's message.

Someone is posing as Castiel and pretending to speak to Sam.

He knows that it can only be the angels. He just can't imagine what they intend by disguising themselves. The horrors imposed upon his flesh fall away from the angel's mind as he turns it instead onto figuring out this puzzle Sam has laid out for him.

Sam is clever, so Castiel trusts that the boy will continue to tread cautiously when it comes to trying to communicate with him. But Castiel knows that he needs to get back to his charges. Even the Winchesters can only fend off angels for so long.

Castiel has to get out of here.

* * *

><p>It is, of course, easier said than done. As he told Anael when he met her before she attempted to kill John and Mary Winchester in order to wipe out Sam's existence, escaping from Heaven is impossible. He still doesn't believe that Anael managed to do it, though she seemed to believe she had. Castiel knows all about the designs of Heaven―it would not be so difficult for his brothers to trick even brilliant Anael by creating a fissure in Heaven's defenses, something so seemingly innocuous that Anael could slip through it and truly think she'd found it on her own.<p>

Castiel puts his mind to work while it is his to command. In the spaces between his re-education when they're letting him rest, in the moments before intense blooms of pain steal his breath and choke off whatever plot his mind has formed, in the breathless moments when he is left gasping for air he does not need―he takes them all, steals them and covets them and lets his thoughts go. Castiel is a renowned tactician in Heaven―it is his finest talent, one of the reasons he and not mighty Uriel was chosen as Anael's second-in-command. He trusts that he will be able to find _some way_ to break free of his brothers' hold, just long enough to slip into the ether and steal away.

As long as he can make them believe he's so weak the sigils are only redundant, he might just make this work. The thought settles so firmly that Castiel almost believes it, lets the hope blossom against the call of his better judgment.

Then one day, a brother whose name he has never been allowed to know leans over him, grins in a way that is too warm, too familiar for this situation. _I think this might go quicker if we didn't need to draw out the sigils to bind you,_ his brother says.

Castiel's whole Grace quivers.

His brother goes on, _Perhaps if we burn the sigils into your Grace. You've done something similar with your precious humans, haven't you, Castiel?_

Every good feeling that Castiel has ever possessed dries up and shrivels into a twisted, dying thing.

_Hold still now,_ his brother says. _This will only take a moment_.

The first touch of singeing Grace, burning brighter than Raphael's when it tore him to shreds in Chuck Shurley's kitchen so long ago, begins to carve the crippling sigil into Castiel.

_How curious,_ his brother says. _Your Grace is too weak to wipe them away._

Castiel screams at the second touch. Every part of him flares out in a wild explosion of pain, of the evilest sort of love. He doesn't stop screaming until he's filled all the heavens with his voice.

He doesn't stop screaming until long after his brother has grown bored and pushed him away back into the cold quiet of his cell.

* * *

><p>Castiel loses so much time to the constant thrumming of the sigils blotting out the essence of his Grace. It has numbed out all the other sensations, all the rest of the pain, so the Flames have left him here alone in this cell. He thinks he hears one of them comment, <em>Perhaps we should have tried it sooner. He is ruined as an angel.<em>

If he were able to, Castiel would fling a phrase he learned from Dean back at the remark. He thinks it goes, _Fuck off, you dick._

Of course―another, quieter part of Castiel thinks perhaps his brother is right. He thinks he might be writhing, may have been doing so since they brought him here and dumped him, leaving him for what could pass―for an angel―for near-dead. He burns, burns so ugly and quiet, like a doused flame.

He asks for them to kill him. He knows he does it because he repeatedly feels shame steal over him in great, heaving sobs.

The Flames don't come back, and they never listen to him when he asks for it to end.

* * *

><p>Castiel cannot see anything but crystal-stained ink dancing like shadows before him. He is pressed to the solid floor of his cell, pressed wholly against it because it is cool and he is <em>burning<em> and the fire never stops, never goes away. He thinks he wanted to escape. He thinks there was a reason for that. He can't even summon up the strength to remember why.

He bleeds his purpose and conviction out across the floor, lets them spill with each ghost of a word that falls from his lips.

And then, suddenly, the roaring churn of his Grace grows quiet. Castiel startles when he feels something cool brush across him.

He forces himself to move, to gather himself up so he can raise his head. He is shocked to see that he's all shot-through with a light that is not his own, that is warm and brilliant, stained with an iridescent sheen and brilliant white like pearls and diamonds.

Castiel recognizes it, he realizes suddenly. He recognizes it from Hell.

Its glow is dim now compared to what it was then, as though it is muffled, shushed like it's sharing a secret with him. Castiel thinks he hears warm laughter, quiet and amused as the white light coils around his Grace, curls inside him.

And then it brightens, more splendid than any of the stars Castiel has flown by, than it was even in Hell. The little seraph is engulfed in the storm of it, swept up and away like leaves on a stiff breeze, caught and bound in it as it flies high, higher than Heaven's walls and so far beyond. There are angry exclamations, pulses of fury pounding at the air around him, his brothers' ire in physical form. They cannot puncture the light, and so they cannot reach Castiel.

He is too weak to do anything but stiffen in its pull, uncertain of its intent. He feels something brush over his wings, the sting in them gentled. _Rest now,_ the touch seems to say.

So Castiel does.

* * *

><p>When again he rouses, Castiel is not in Heaven. He is not on the ethereal plane. He is also not free of restriction, and he scuttles for a moment before it dawns on him that the restraint is not angelic, but made of human flesh.<p>

He's been restored to his vessel.

The realization stills him long enough to find that he has been healed―for the most part, he amends. His wings still ache and his Grace is still weak from the sigils carved into it, but he is relieved to note that they have been healed along with the worst of his wounds.

And only then does he sense someone standing over him.

Castiel pushes up, lifts his head and is startled by the golden-hazel eyes staring back at him from a familiar face. He kicks his feet until he has purchase enough to shove himself backward across the―ah, the couch he's resting on.

He stares at Gabriel warily. _Gabriel_ saved him? Gabriel is _alive_?

Gabriel quirks an eyebrow at him, but doesn't say anything. Strangely, his brother is frowning and inscrutable. Castiel has seen him this way before, long ago in Heaven's corridors, but it is rare enough a countenance for his brother that Castiel grows uncomfortable with it. He studies the winged armchair Gabriel sits in for a moment, just until he can try to make sense of this situation. The armchair is a gaudy shade of red, and Castiel sees little white outlines of the female body in various lewd positions outlined over the fabric. They appear to be in a large loft that he imagines his old friend Balthazar would take a shine too―Dean might describe it as _all swank and sex_. There is a lot of glass and black marble.

He wrinkles his nose in distaste and gives his brother a chastening look. Gabriel's unreadable expression blossoms into a bright, amused grin. "Hiya, Castiel!"

"Gabriel," Castiel returns with a respectful nod. He thinks he should, perhaps, treat the more dangerous of his siblings with a little less respect and a little more caution―but the habit is still ingrained into him.

Gabriel continues to grin at him, slapping his hands against his thighs. "So how ya been, kiddo? Seems like the last time I saw you you were halfway to fallen and mooning after little Deano and the world was coming to an end!" Castiel just stares at him, unamused. Gabriel's grin gradually becomes more and more forced, then slides off his face altogether. "You know, you're kind of a buzzkill, Castiel."

"Apologies," Castiel deadpans, then rises to his feet. His overcoat, blazer and shoes are missing. He summons them back with a thought, dressing his vessel accordingly. Reaching out, Castiel tests the boundaries of the ether around the loft and is unsurprised to find that he cannot break through it to fly. He sighs, and directs another stern look at his elder brother. "Why can't I leave this place?"

"Tut tut, Castiel." Gabriel shakes his head and wags a finger in Castiel's direction. "You used to be much better at asking relevant questions. Now why don't you have a seat and enjoy your awesome big brother's company for a minute?"

Castiel stiffens, his expression darkening further. "I don't want to sit down."

Gabriel rolls his eyes and shrugs. "Geez, you and Sam should patent the pissed-off puppy look. Whatever fluffs your marshmallow, I guess. Oooh." He cocks his head to one side, tapping his chin with one finger contemplatively. "Marshmallows. _S'mores_, oh man." With a snap of his fingers, Gabriel is suddenly holding a gooey, chocolatey _thing_ stuffed between what appears to be a pair of flat cookies. Gabriel catches Castiel eyeing his treat, and asks through a mouthful of chocolate and marshmallow goo, "Y'wanna try one?"

"No," Castiel replies shortly.

"_Such_ a _buzzkill_," Gabriel sighs remorsefully. He takes his time, ignoring Castiel's pointed stare, and finishes the "s'more," then licks his fingers clean of any remaining chocolate and crumbs.

Castiel loses his limited patience around the time Gabriel starts smacking his lips and looking like he might conjure another one. "_Gabriel_," he says sharply, waiting until his brother's eyes meet his to go on, "What do you want with me?"

Gabriel looks put out. "Y'know, I _know_ you weren't created with that stick up your ass. You used to be _fun_."

Something in Castiel turns hard and cold, and he says bitterly, "Perhaps you are remembering the fledgling that trailed after you all through Heaven. I don't mean to alarm you, but fledglings need to grow up when there is a war to be fought."

Gabriel frowns at him, and the unhappiness in his expression is the most candid emotion Castiel has witnessed in him since before Gabriel fled Heaven so long ago. "I thought you'd be all right," Gabriel tells Castiel earnestly. "You have to know that."

Castiel would really rather not have this particular discussion. Gabriel wouldn't let him say anything on the matter the last time they met―instead, he locked Castiel in a prison and weakened his Grace so that Castiel was very nearly human. Castiel's spent so long having decisions taken from him by his brothers. He makes one for himself and changes the subject, not giving Gabriel the opportunity to defend his actions. Castiel really isn't interested in his brother's explanations.

Instead, he prompts Gabriel again, "Tell me why I'm here."

Gabriel's eyes harden, and the raffish Trickster's grin he's stolen to hide behind replaces his earnestness. "I thought you'd want to know that Raphael is planning on tricking one of your little knights-in-shining-flannel into reopening the Cage," he said with a flourish.

And suddenly Sam's prayers make much more sense. Castiel doesn't quite startle, but Gabriel must see him straighten because he laughs. "Yeah, I figured that'd get your attention."

"How do you know this?" Castiel demands.

Gabriel smirks at him. "That's for Big Brother to know, and Baby Brother to wonder about in the wee hours of night."

No matter. Castiel can figure that out later. "So it was Raphael who disguised himself as me and spoke with Sam within his subconscious?" he surmises.

Gabriel shrugs one shoulder, spreading his hands. "Him or one of his lackeys. Poor old Rafe seems a bit put-out that Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumbass managed to avert the Apocalypse." Gabriel cocks his head to one side. "I'm actually a little surprised myself, truth be told.

"Anyway," he says with a flick of his wrist, "soon as I got my wings back, I started asking around, checking in with some old allies. Raphael's taken command of Heaven, and has been exterminating any who stand in his way."

Something in Castiel grows cold, and he thinks of Uriel.

"We have to stop him," Castiel tells Gabriel. "We can't let him undo what the Winchesters have done to save this world."

"Creepy hero-worshippy statement aside, I agree with you." Gabriel then takes a moment to assess Castiel. Castiel's wings fidget at his back. "So, I've been putting it asking because I figured you'd be pissy about it, but uh...what happened to you, Cas?" He gestures at Castiel's wings. "You look like you got mauled, and you're definitely losing some shine there. Like, a lot of shine. You almost look like you've been through Hell. _Again_."

Castiel gives him a strange look. "I _did _go through Hell again. That's why I was in Heaven's prison."

Gabriel's mouth tightens into a hard line. "They _imprisoned_ you? They left you with the Flames?"

Castiel blinks at him. "Yes, Raphael sent me to the Flames for Persuasion...except for the sigils―" He gestures toward his vessel's chest to indicate the Grace hidden away beneath. "―it really wasn't much different from the first time." Gabriel mouths, _the first time?_ incredulously as Castiel says, "Weren't you the one who pulled me out of there?"

Gabriel's face pinches. "Cas―I had no idea what had happened to you. I just found you free-falling outside of Rome and brought you here to heal what damage I could." Castiel blinks at him. So... Gabriel _hadn't_ saved him from the Flames? Then, who...? He puts the thought aside for later, because he thinks Gabriel looks rather distraught and the expression makes him uncomfortable. "Why would Raphael send you to the Flames?"

"He accused me of treason against Heaven," Castiel informs him.

"Wait, wait, wait―_what_?" Gabriel makes a sharp gesture when Castiel opens his mouth to speak again. "Y'know what, never mind. Why don't you just tell me the whole story from the beginning?"

"To which beginning do you refer?" Castiel asks.

Gabriel shakes his head and watches Castiel with regret shimmering behind his eyes. "I don't even know, Cas. How the ceasefire on the Apocalypse was called maybe?"

Castiel considers it, then nods. "I can do that." He sits down, and starts to tell Gabriel all that has transpired. Gabriel just listens, for once in his entire existence.

* * *

><p>By the time Castiel finishes the account of his latest voyage to Hell, Gabriel has conjured them a bottle of whiskey and a pair of tumblers. For the most part, Castiel tries to ignore it―he remembers how unpleasant the aftermath of his last "bender" was, and he is in no hurry to relive it. Gabriel doesn't seem to mind, just works his way through the 40-oz. bottle and then takes Castiel's glass from him when the younger angel fails to touch it.<p>

When Castiel finishes, Gabriel sets the glass down decisively and says, "Okay, well obviously you're not going anywhere near Raphael again."

Castiel shoots Gabriel a puzzled look. "Why?"

Gabriel scoffs. "Uh, because every time you get close to that dick you end up dead or captured or hurt in some way? I don't know why I never thought of it before, but Rafe's always sort of had a _thing_ against you."

Castiel nods in agreement, though he also is unsure why their brother is so hostile toward him. He honestly cannot remember a time Raphael _didn't_ dislike him. "Someone has to stop Raphael's plan though, Gabriel," he points out.

"Yeah, Cas, I know," Gabriel sighs. "That's why _you're_ going to stay here on Earth and try to find some recruits."

"Recruits," Castiel repeats.

"Yeah, bucko, _recruits_. We're not the only pair of angels that snuck out Heaven's back door, remember? There are others who've fallen or―y'know, ran away."

And now Castiel is unsure. "I don't think any Fallen would want to help us stop the Apocalypse."

"Oh, c'mon, Cas! Have a little faith!" Gabriel says, shooting him a cross look. "We both helped with the last one didn't we?"

Castiel huffs impatiently. "_You_ only helped because Dean cursed you a coward." He pauses at Gabriel's sudden wounded frown, and allows, "And to keep your brothers from killing each other."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence there, Cas. And why, exactly, did _you_ fall and help the Brothers Winchester?"

Castiel meets Gabriel's gaze and says, "Because a friend asked me to. Because I believed that he might be right, that the lives here are worth saving."

"Well, maybe some of the Fallen will catch your fanboy complex for the Righteous Man," Gabriel suggests. "Either way, you're going to have to do this because _I_ have to go play Secret Agent Man in Heaven. No, I know you don't understand that reference," he says when Castiel starts to interrupt. "Just shut up―you can ask Dean about it later.

"Now," he says, hopping to his feet to lean over Castiel and press his hands against Castiel's shoulders. "You stay here. Avoid weird pearly white lights. Do _not_ go diving back into Hell. Find the Winchesters, do what you have to do to keep them away from Raphael's goons, but _do not _do anything stupid. Mmkay pumpkin?"

Castiel furrows his brow―_pumpkin_?―and nods. He is still leery of Gabriel, but he hasn't seen his brother so full of holy intent in a long time. It is...refreshing. And it instills Castiel with an old hope that perhaps the brother he once idolized will return to to their family someday.

Gabriel pats his cheeks then squishes them, laughing at Castiel's expression. "Okay. Behave, baby brother. And, uh..." He gestures at Castiel's wings. "Try not to fly too far. You don't want to do any more damage than has already been done."

Castiel only nods again. "Yes, brother."

Gabriel grins at him, winks and salutes. And then he vanishes.

Castiel shakes his head and follows suit.


End file.
